[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Jarl *****

Clouds of white seabirds wheeled and turned in the harbor air, their raucous calls heralding the dawn of a new day. Jarl was up early, in the hour before the sun had risen, anxious for the day to begin and then be over. Bram had also awakened early and gone down into the city to speak with Captain Rira.

Today would be the day for the Audience with King Elessar. It would be for form, a day of pomp and show. All would be there in their finery, looking over all the other nations who had come, attempting to guess what the agenda of each was. Jarl no longer cared. Once they had made their requisite appearance, the Dalesmen would make their excuses and would meet back on the ship. Girion would sit in on their planning, and would then return to Dale in the company of the Lonely Mountain dwarves and the Elves of Mirkwood. King Brand would be made privy to to the plans to go South when the Prince returned.

The sun was two hours above the horizon, when Jarl went to wake both Girion and Garlin. Time to break their fast, put on their ceremonial finery, and head into the city - to the seventh level where Elessar would hold the audience.

Bleary eyed, they rose, each waving off the offers of solid food in favor of strong cups of tea thick with honey. They dressed in clothes of simple elegance. Tunics in dark hues of green and of blue topped their black breeches. Jarl's was much the same, a dark grey shirt and black pants, with black knee high boots of soft leather. Each wore a black cape, clasped at the throat with a small insignia of Dale - a dark blue enamelled 'D' on a field of silver.

When the trio was ready, Jarl, Girion, and Garlin, they made their winding way up through the city to the seventh tier. They were among the first ones to arrive, and they quickly made their way to a vantage point where they could watch the other delegates make their way up the levels and then enter the courtyard. Jarl supposed that once all were gathered in tha area of the Citadel, then all would go within to Merethrond, the Hall of Feasts.

Girion and Garlin gawked unashamedly at the sights. Just as they had entered into the seventh tier, the Place of the Fountain met their eyes, its bright and melodious waters a refreshing blend of sight and sound after the climb up the lamplit tunnel that ran due west to the Citadel, providing the only access to the seventh tier. Directly behind the Fountain, towering gracefully over it, stood the White Tree of Minas Anor, a descendant of Nimloth of Númenor. It had been planted there by the hand of King Elessar, himself, in place of the one which had withered in the courtyard before his ascent to the throne. Finally was their gaze caught and held by the splendor of the White Tower of Ecthelion, shining in the sun.

Jarl smiled at the two young men, remembering his first sight of this city, though it had been in more shadowed and kingless times. He nudged them into some sense of decorum as the first delegations began to arrive.

Isilmir, dressed in his rumpled robe, waved to him as he passed through the courtyard to the king's House. Jarl made his way to a table laden with fruits, small tidbits of food and all manner of drink. He poured a goblet of thin, watered wine for himself, and sipped it slowly. The sun stood high in the sky, and still the peoples flowed into the Citadel. He sighed and sat at ease in the shade of the Feast Hall. There were many delegates still to come - this could prove to be a long, long day.

[ November 11, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]